Fallen Woman
by Lady Cailan
Summary: One man's unlikely love. One prejudiced father's plea. One great sacrifice. In a society where Muggle-borns struggle for equality, sometimes the greatest lengths are necessary to redeem a woman defiled. AU/OOC Draco/Hermione
1. Chapter 1

_Hello, everyone! If you're catching me for the first time, welcome. I can't wait for you to join me on this new journey. If you've come back – I'm thrilled! I hope you enjoy what I have coming. I wanted to say thank you again for the outpouring of comments on my last story. I really do appreciate it and am working on getting back to each person that has reviewed. Those of you who were anon or left me no option to reply to reviews – I want to say thank you. I had a blast writing the last story and I hope to do the same with this new one._

_I've had this in the works since last spring but with finishing my other epic and then work and real-life, well, we all know how it goes. I wanted to write something a bit more Hermione-centric this time (is that possible with the fact that I wrote Crimson? I don't know). I actually didn't have a pairing in mind for this one for a long time but in the end I chose Draco because Dramione are my OTP. I can't help it. I didn't actually change my original idea much however; I worked Draco into it. That means this story will have Hermione with multiple partners. My purpose this time was to write something a little less oppressive. This won't be fluffy though; I don't do that well! I don't know why – I just think the post-war, oppressed wizarding society is just more my thing. This story won't be for everyone (goes without saying when it comes to my stuff and those of you who read Crimson already know that). This story will contain sex (if you read the detailed synopsis below you will understand why), language and some violence. I am always up front with my readers. Please note the following before you read:_

_This is a multi-wizard fic focused on Hermione's life. I have categorized it as Dramione because Draco will play a huge role. However he is not Hermione's only partner – and in fact – will not be her partner during much of the first half of the story. It will span a good period of time and the romance will not happen all at once. This will be a slow-developing story._

_Note that Hermione will be having relationships with more than one man/wizard. I thought by putting it out there at the beginning I wouldn't offend too many people who can only read Hermione/Draco._

_This story will focus on Lucius Malfoy as well as Draco – I chose the Malfoy family because I haven't written about them much in my last epic and I do love Lucius._

_This will most likely not have a happy ending. I say that only so people don't get invested for the wrong reasons._

_If you're still with me, I'll give the following (detailed) synopsis. (Don't you hate the word limit for the summaries? :cheeky grin:)_

_**Fallen Woman**  
_

_**Imagine a world where Harry Potter died trying to save the wizarding world. Imagine too, that Voldemort died as well but his prejudiced ideals did not die with him. Imagine a wizarding London that is enslaved by the ideals of pureblood supremacy and where Muggle-borns find themselves struggling to make a living and fighting constant prejudice. In this new world, Hermione Granger is stuck in a life she no longer wants, as Ron Weasley's dirty little secret and in a dead-end job as a waitress at a tiny, wizarding pub. With each day she feels a growing resentment for those in her life and for her own inability to make something of herself. It is a chance meeting with a man from her past which opens a door to a world Hermione had never imagined. She shuns her former life and the people she loves, beginning a descent into the debauchery of wine and pleasure, and soon becoming one of the most sought after escorts at the very popular, upscale gentleman's nightclub, **_**Amortentia**_**, bedding and winning over the elitists of pureblood society. Now, she has taken to bed with Theodore Nott, one of the wealthiest men in the city. She only knows superficial love and friendship, having shunned both realities for a life of sensual comforts and pleasure. But will the most unlikely of people, a sullen and unwilling Draco Malfoy, be the one to remind Hermione of what she has lost? And will a love between a Muggle-born witch who has lost her heart and an elite pureblood wizard have any chance of survival at all? Join me for a story of love, and pain, prejudice and forgiveness, despair and redemption. She is a fallen woman and he will usher in her redemption, but at what cost?**_

_I hope you do take the time to check this out (if it sounds like your cup of tea) and if you do, please let me know what you think so far. I'm curious to know. And enjoy!_

_LCailan_

**Goodbye, My Friend**

_One week after the Final Battle_

_I sit here writing, although I think I ought to be getting ready for the funeral. I still can't believe it; Harry's dead. Oh, Harry! I don't think it's sunk in quite yet. And poor Ginny! The worst thing is that I can't even imagine what I could do or say to make this easier for her! Not to mention Ron, who hasn't eaten more than two bites in nearly a week! How can this be real? How can any of this be right? I thought for so long that if we just worked hard enough, good would win out. If he hunted long enough, found those horrid Horcruxes…oh, Harry! Did we fail you? What did we do wrong? How do we move on? What happens now? _

It was a dismal morning and Hermione stared out of the large window of the funeral home. Outside, the cobbled streets and wide walk ways glimmered as the weak sunlight was reflected in the multitude of puddles. It had rained all morning.

_It's proper,_ she thought miserably, glancing down at the black dress and proper pumps she was wearing. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in a small mirror that hung in the large foyer to her left. The girl staring back at her was pale and thin, a ghost of the one she had been even a year ago.

Hermione turned away from the looking-glass, patting the back of her chignon absently as she moved towards the two double doors leading to the main room in the funeral parlor. Just as she opened the doors, two identical red-haired men nearly walked into her.

"Wotcher, Hermione," said Fred, giving her one of those smiles that couldn't actually be called a smile, but instead a facial expression meant to be comforting. George offered her a hug and she hugged him back.

"How is she?"

Hermione felt almost as if she were speaking too loudly, that Ginny might overhear and grow angry at the fact that they were even discussing her. Since Harry's death, she had hardly said two words, let alone given reassurance that she was all right; everything simply believed she was near to breaking down.

"The same," George replied, frowning. Fred's attempt at a smile had gone, and he was watching his brother gravely, sighing just as he finished speaking.

"We tried to get her to eat, but it didn't do any good."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Right. I tried that with Ron, and it didn't do much good either."

The twins exchanged a look.

"No, not good when we're talking about Ron, the human rubbish disposal."

Hermione nodded, turning her head to the large, glass front doors just as Molly and Arthur stepped inside. Percy was behind them, holding the hand of Penelope Clearwater.

As before, she hurried to embrace the Weasley elders and offer a hug to Percy and Penelope as well. Molly brushed aside a few wayward curls from Hermione's pale face.

"How are you, dear?"

Molly's voice shimmered with warmth; it was as it always had been. Hermione had taken comfort in that voice for so long. Molly had become like her own mother during her years at Hogwarts and loving Ron had only cemented her relationship with his mother.

Hermione loved Molly Weasley but try as she might, in that moment, even she was of no comfort.

"I'm fine," she found herself saying woodenly as she accepted another hug from both older Weasleys. Though they appeared strong, Hermione could see the deep lines of pain in Molly's face and the sadness that had blanketed Arthur. She wished there was a spell, a charm – something – to take this all away.

_Let it be a nightmare! Let me wake up after the final battle and realize that Harry isn't dead after all! _

Hermione closed her eyes tightly and turned from the gathering of Weasleys so they wouldn't see her tears. They burned behind her closed eyelids and they would smear her makeup if she wasn't careful.

_Stop this, Hermione! Be strong!_

She hurried back to the waiting room to stare out at the rainy afternoon, biting hard against her knuckled fist.

_I can't cry! I have to be the strong one!_

She turned her eyes heavenward, praying for strength which she didn't feel. Her fingers gripped the window sash.

_I mustn't cry! Ginny will need me; how will she go on without Harry? He was the love of her life. What I feel pales in comparison to what she is going through!_

For a few moments Hermione willed herself to not think. She listened to the steady sound of the falling rain, taking breaths to calm herself.

_Harry and Ron were best mates – what must it be like to lose your best mate?_

As she stood wondering, those she had left watched her with a sad silence. Hermione, in all her preoccupation and grief over Harry and her friends, had not yet realized that she, too, had suffered an immeasurable loss. They only wondered when she would realize it and would allow herself to feel it.

They buried Harry just after three in the afternoon.

He was laid to rest in the tiny cemetery behind the church in Godric's Hollow.

The rain had let up for a bit and the ground where they interred him was water-logged. Hermione would forever recall the scent of rain in the cool afternoon air and the thick, rich scent of earth. Somehow this little village in England would always be associated with a deep sadness. Not only sadness because of what had happened to Harry's parents here but now because Harry had finally joined them, much too early.

Though she and the Weasley family had arrived in London early, soon enough there were so many faces Hermione had lost count. They gathered at the funeral home and then had Apparated to Godric's Hollow to finish the ceremony.

The tiny village had not seen so many people in years and after the groups began to break off and head in different directions, Hermione stood at the grave site, staring down at Harry's small, ornately carved headstone. She waited, hoping for a moment alone with her best friend.

"Harry."

Nothing answered her but the drip, drip, drip of rain from the leaves in the trees above her head. Quickly, Hermione cast an imperturbable charm on her clothing and then pulled her coat closer around her body.

"Harry, I-"

She closed her eyes against the pain that flooded her suddenly, the complete and utter weight of her loss.

When was the last time she had seen him alive? She recalled the school she had adored fallen around her in ruins and the scent of smoke and fire, choking her. Harry had been there – tired and broken but very much alive. Alive in ways she couldn't claim to now. She had hugged him tightly, feeling his warmth and crying against his dirt and blood covered clothing.

_Oh, Harry! I knew – I knew! I knew you had to turn yourself in – I knew!_

That was why she had held on for just one more moment, that's why she hadn't wanted to let him go and why she had wept against Ron's neck so brokenly.

"I should have told you I loved you then. I should have said you were the best friend a girl could have."

Her voice was thick with tears and for a moment she held it together but then in the next she was sobbing, tears streaming down her pale cheeks like the rain from the clouds.

"I love you, Harry. And you were so brave! I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!"

She had fallen to her knees in her grief; her skirt and pantyhose were already soaked and her teeth chattered from the cold even though the charm worked to shield her from the worst of the weather. But those things didn't seem to matter to the lone girl in the graveyard. She knelt by Harry Potter's headstone just like she had stood next to him that Christmas night when they had come to Godric's Hollow in search of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

At least then she hadn't been alone; she had been Harry's strength and she wished now more than anything that he could be hers.

But he was gone. And she was-

"Hermione?"

The brunette gasped on her tears and turned to see Ginny standing near the clearing of trees, holding a navy blanket.

"You'll catch your death of a cold," she whispered.

Without hesitating the red-haired girl moved to drape the warm blanket over Hermione's cold shoulders and the two girls held each other for a long time, trying to find comfort in the chasm of loneliness.

Later that afternoon the two girls sat on the stoop of the only pub in the village – a run down establishment that, in spite of its outward appearance, still served drinks and food by a friendly, middle-aged man.

It sat on one end of the square that faced a stone statue. Both girls new that it was magically charmed to reveal James, Lily and Harry Potter if a witch or wizard ventured close enough. Somehow though, neither wanted to see it now.

Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever feel strong enough to do so again.

The sky had finally become less leaden and some light-gray clouds sailed along the horizon. Hermione stared up at them feeling strangely drained of all her emotions.

"Ginny?"

"Hmmm…?"

Ginny's voice was soft; it sounded world-weary. Hermione knew if she turned her friend's face would be ashen, the look in her brown eyes broken and terrified.

She didn't move, however.

"What happens now?"

There was only the sound of the breeze and the nearby rustle of leaves and murmur of voices. Beyond the square Hermione could barely glimpse the ruins of the old Potter house – the house where James and Lily had been killed.

She knew it well; she would never forget that place as long as she lived.

Hermione waited for Ginny to answer but she received no reply and turned to see Ginny staring off in the same direction with a listlessness that was almost terrifying. Quickly, the brunette rose and moved to put her arms around the devastated younger girl.

Ginny held Hermione close.

"I can't bear it," she whispered.

Hermione wondered at this. The pain did indeed feel unbearable.

"Maybe we can't think on it yet."

"Maybe."

They watched as people milled to and fro, pausing at the memorial statue and moving from one side of the square to the other.

For now the two young women were close as kin. For now their differences did not matter. They did not know what was on the horizon and what division was brewing.

It was better they didn't.

Unbeknownst to them all, Harry Potter's death would usher in a new wizarding order. Not all darkness had died with Lord Voldemort, and darkness, just as disease, would spread.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Burden

_Thank you for your responses! Gives me hope that this might be something you'll all enjoy. Anyone guess who the new Minister will be? Here's the next segment. Enjoy._

_LCailan_

* * *

_**2 – The Burden**_

* * *

_It's been another year since Harry's funeral. Last year was hard, I remember. This year is just a little less so; I think there might be hope for me. Strange, really, how the tiniest things remind me of him. I had a treacle tart this morning; Luna brought it from the local barista along with my favorite cup of coffee. She probably thought I was mental, but for a few seconds I wanted to weep. Those had been his favorite. If it's this bad for me, I can only imagine what Ginny's been going through all these months! I miss her smile; I miss the way she used to make me laugh at the silliest things. I miss her more than I am going to admit - to anyone. I don't even know when she stopped coming around but I do know it hurts. It's been ages since I've last seen her. And Ron! Merlin, nothing's been the same, really. Not with him and not with the relationship. Our relationship. I'm afraid. It's not that I don't think he loves me, but I just...I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder if he sees the scarlet letter on my forehead; I wonder if he's reminded that I'm Muggle-born each time he sees me. Gods, I _**_am_**_ mental! Ron wouldn't do that, but I fear that in this new society, it doesn't matter what people used to think, but what they are thinking now and those small changes that are going on around me..._

_2 years later_

Hermione looked out of the window that faced the street where she lived in a run-down flat owned by a little old lady who had at one time been a seamstress. No one lived upstairs and the downstairs had been occupied only infrequently during the twenty-four months she had been staying there. It wasn't much, really; the space consisted of a cramped living room, an even smaller bedroom, a kitchen and one bathroom. The windows were tiny and the walls were in dire need of cleaning and a shiny, bright coat of paint. Even the furniture that occupied the space was small and worn. Hermione knew it wasn't much but even this dilapidated flat in a rather dodgy part of London was almost too much for her to afford. Indeed, she had missed last month's rent and in a last ditch effort she had asked Luna for a small loan, at least enough to cover her rent for the next month. Hopefully business would pick up at the cleaning service where she was currently holding a job.

Luna smiled when Hermione answered her door.

"Coffee!" she said with a smile. "I could never stand the stuff," she added watching as Hermione drank greedily.

"I need it," replied the brunette. There was nothing better than a good, strong cup of coffee with thick cream. She was lucky that Luna cared enough about the small pleasures in life, for sometimes there wasn't enough left in Hermione's monthly budget to afford such things.

"Long night?" asked Luna, taking a seat on the worn, green sofa by the small window. She tucked her lithe frame against the cushions, pushing her long, wispy hair over one thin shoulder.

Hermione groaned into her steaming beverage, taking another long, saving sip.

"You don't even want to know," she muttered.

Luna sighed and the two women exchanged a look. Hermione knew that look; she saw it often now amongst her few close friends - those left that were still not ashamed to be seen with her. The felt sorry for Hermione; they wanted her to have a better life. They wanted to do something to change the fact that in the last two years, too much had changed in London. In fact, too much had changed in all of wizarding England. All seemed detrimental to the future and survival of Muggle-borns.

Former Hogwarts students who wanted to continue schooling were subjected to long, drawn-out interviews as a way to weed out those who were deemed 'unsuitable'. It seemed to Hermione that many of those rejected had been Muggle-born. It had nothing to do with the fact that her desire to continue her education had been single-handedly destroyed by a rejection letter she had received the previous week. It had been the fourth in less than a year!

After her first rejection the previous year, frustrated and disappointed, Hermione had moved onto her second choice; she had begun looking for work.

Unfortunately, more and more, the Ministry of Magic no longer employed any man or woman of Muggle-born descent. Hermione believed that most of the good employers in London were hesitant now to hire any witch or wizard who was not of good standing - and that included proper blood status. In the grand scheme of things, that left Muggle-borns out in the cold; they could not further their educations and many if not most of them could not find work. Those that did found themselves blending more and more into the world of Muggles, shunning the inherent magical abilities they had been born with to take menial jobs in restaurants, Laundromats, cleaning services and discothèques...

_Completely mundane, dissatisfying jobs that I'm too smart for! Here I am, young and healthy, willing to work hard and continue to educate myself and I can't! In fact, I can't even pay next month's rent! It's madness!_

A distraught Hermione took another swallow of hot coffee and cream, avoiding Luna's eyes with expertise. After months of feeling unspoken sympathy she was beginning to resent her friends. After a year she was downright furious.

The silence stretched out much longer than seemed comfortable before Luna finally spoke.

"I'm talking to my boss about possibly hiring you on, Hermione. You can't work such grueling hours forever!"

Luna had been accepted to the university the year previous (the same time Hermione had received her rejection letter) and had begun to work in the city park to pay for schooling. Hermione had hoped there would have been a foot in the door for her, but even strangers were hesitant to have anything to do with someone of Muggle birth.

"It's not as if I want to, Luna."

Hermione's reply was curt - icy almost. She didn't want to sound jealous or frustrated, but in spite of her best efforts she wasn't able to keep her true feelings from surfacing. She was blessed that Luna had the patience of a saint.

"It won't be like this forever, you know. I'm sure of it. The world isn't static, Hermione. It constantly waxes and wanes with the moon and the seasons. You'll see. You're brilliant; they can't deny brilliance forever. No matter what they think of your blood status."

Luna spoke words which sounded hollow and empty in Hermione's ears, but she would not upset her friend. Luna had been a saving grace lately.

"Thanks, Luna," she found herself saying lamely.

As she finished her coffee, Hermione hoped it was enough. The silence that followed was not nearly as tense and once more Luna spoke to break it.

"I'm having a small party at my flat to celebrate the full moon," she said with a smile. "I was hoping if Ron had enough time..."

Hermione glanced up abruptly.

"Lately, he's had none," she replied cutting off anything Luna would have said.

The blonde girl nodded pensively. The subject of Ron was yet another sensitive one and Hermione felt bad that she was having trouble talking about anything lately without becoming strangely defensive.

"Still busy?" she asked in a voice a bit more hesitant now. When Hermione glanced up she could see Luna was gazing at her with sympathy.

"He's still in Auror training," she replied tersely. "I'm sure you know it takes up a lot of time."

Instead of replying, Luna rose from the worn couch, a frown on her pretty face.

"I'll be going then, Hermione. I hope you can make it to the party even if Ron won't be able to."

Luna's voice registered hurt and Hermione wasn't able to ignore it even if she had wanted to.

"Luna," she blurted apologetically, moving quickly to grasp her friend's hand in her own. "I'm sorry. Really, I am."

Luna paused, her body poised and tensed one moment and then relenting the next. She turned, biting her lip.

"I know you are," she replied gently. "Hermione, it's not easy for you right now and I know that. But you can't just push away people who care about you. It won't help."

Luna's blue-gray eyes locked with Hermione's brown ones for a moment and her gaze was clear and never wavered. Hermione only hesitated a moment before replying.

"I know. Everything such a mess though. Work is a mess and I hate it. I hate not being able to go to school, to be an Auror like Ron or anything, really! I have potential and I feel more and more isolated from everything and everyone I've known for years! And the worst part is I can't bloody do anything about it!"

Hermione's outburst echoed in the small space of her flat.

"Ron doesn't get it, you know? He keeps on with this thing about how one day something will change and how I'm brilliant and..."

She fell silent with a frustrated sigh, her eyes moving to the ground between them.

"Things have changed between us. That's what bothers me the most, Luna. I can handle his long hours at training and my envy over what he has just because of his blood status. I'm just...I'm terrified of losing him. I feel like I lose a bit of him each day. Look what happened with Ginny and I! What if...what if it happens again?"

Gone was Hermione's anger, having been replaced by a poignant vulnerability. Luna moved to hug her tightly and the curly-haired brunette breathed in the whimsical scent of flowers and fresh air that always seemed to cling to Luna wherever she went. It was comforting and Hermione didn't want to let go. At least she still had Luna and she wouldn't forget that. She couldn't; it was all that she really had sometimes.

Ginny had taken a few months to gather her mind right after the rainy day they had buried Harry in Godric's Hollow. Hermione had believed that with everything the two had shared, she would have Ginny's friendship forever. But then Ginny had stared to distance herself -not only from Hermione but from her brothers and parents as well. At first they had all given her the space she requested although there was a sense of concern just beneath the surface. After all how could they understand what Ginny was going through? Hermione, at least, could not have imagine the poignant pain of loss. Of course she had known loss; they had all lost someone that last year leading up to the final battle.

But to lose the other half of one's heart must have been the worst sort of loss.

Ginny remained reclusive for several months after which she told her family she would be moving to Holyhead. Hermione, focused entirely on her application process to the university, had assumed that when Ginny got settled she would Floo.

But she never did.

Hermione heard through Ron and the rest of the Weasley family that Ginny had threw herself entirely into Quidditch, endeavoring to land a spot within the British and Irish Quidditch League. She channeled all her energy, her heartbreak and loss into playing the sport. Within months of her move she had landed a try-out and soon after was playing as a fill-in for the Holyhead Harpies.

Hermione hadn't spoken to her much. Not since _that_ day-

"Don't push me away, Hermione," said Luna when she let her go. "I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere. Ginny...she just doesn't understand, is all. You know she's a good person but we aren't all going to understand. And if Ron uses the loaf he was given he'll realize how amazing you really are and won't ever let you go."

Hermione nodded, uncertain of this but knowing that she had to cling to that hope. Being alone terrified her, especially in such a changing world. And the pain she felt when she thought of Ginny's rejection was still as fresh as the day it had happened.

_I won't think of it; Luna's right. I can't think of it. _

"You're right," she forced herself to say, forcing herself to smile as she did so. Luna returned the smile.

"So you'll come then?" she asked hopefully. "Even if Ron is acting like a prat?"

"I'll come, I promise."

"I'll see you tomorrow then. You'll want your regular coffee?"

"Yes, thanks..."

Hermione spoke shyly, hesitating a moment as her friend passed through the door of her flat.

"Luna?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For everything...I can't-I can't say enough."

Luna only smiled before hurrying down the stairs towards the exit, leaving Hermione alone. She stood framed in the doorway of her shabby flat and she thought of Ginny.

It had been six months since the last time Hermione had seen Ginny. She had taken a few days off from the dress shop to visit Holyhead and surprise the youngest Weasley. Ron had dissuaded her from doing so; he had said Ginny might not want the surprise.

_I should have listened to him!_

Hermione hadn't then. Ginny had been at Quidditch practice the day Hermione had arrived in Holyhead. The day had been sunny and breezy - near perfect for a practice. She had Apparated near to the stadium where the Harpies practiced, admiring the way the gold flags blazed in the afternoon breezes. She had watched, unnoticed, from the stands as Ginny flew, dipped, dived and spun in the air as if she had been nothing but a leaf blown around by the wind.

She was good at Quidditch; Hermione remembered that! She had wanted to cheer on her old friend just like she had done at all the Hogwarts games.

When practice was over, Hermione had dashed down to the main field, bubbling with excitement, assuming Ginny would be as thrilled to see her as she was to see Ginny. A group of the girls walked towards her when they noticed a stranger on the field and it had only taken Ginny a few seconds to recognize the newcomer.

_"Hermione."_

_"Ginny! Wow, you were brilliant up there! I hope you don't mind the surprise! I thought...well, I haven't seen in you in ages and I..."_

Hermione remembered the icy feeling of knowing she wasn't welcome. Somehow, the way Ginny had looked at her, her lack of enthusiasm - all of it - spoke to her almost as if Ginny had spoken herself.

_"Are you...okay, Gin?" _

_"Hermione, you shouldn't be here." _

_"What?"_

_"This is strictly a non-public practice. Quidditch rules are changing. We can't have..."_

The others around Ginny had been wearing looks of curiosity. Some would not look at Hermione; she supposed others must have known something about Ginny's previous life. But it was Ginny she had focused on and the hesitation she saw in her face. As if she had been searching for the right way to break bad news.

Hermione felt the old anger rush through her as she slammed the door of her flat and hurried to the only window in the living room. Below, in the courtyard she watched as Luna Apparated away and she felt supremely lonely.

Quidditch rules had changed. Hermione remembered that now. Just like everything had changed when the Ministry had been taken over by Voldemort. Somehow even with the Dark Lord's demise (thanks to Harry) prejudice had still existed.

Why had they fought that war? Had things changed any in two years?

Hermione sank down on the sofa, shaking her head.

Ron had been the first to break it to Hermione. The Department of Magical Games and Sports had issued a decree that forced the Quidditch Leagues to become more stringent in their selection process. At first not much had changed. Anyone who wanted a shot at getting into the League would try out. Soon it had become clear to anyone who followed Quidditch on a regular basis that all Muggle-born members were slowly being replaced by more and more pureblooded players.

Quidditch would soon become an elite sport played only by those whom the Ministry deemed worthy. It had been a difficult reality for Hermione to face and one of the first realizations of what the world was turning into.

_But I don't play Quidditch! I had only wanted to watch Ginny._

She remembered the hesitation on Ron's face when he spoke.

_It's not just that, Hermione. I think they try to dissuade...everyone else from being involved. Ginny hasn't...well she hasn't had to deal with these changes yet. I'm sure she was thrilled to see you but in front of her teammates..._

Hermione stared at the wall above her window. The leaden feeling of rejection flowed through her once more as it always did when she allowed herself to think of Ginny and her cold reception that spring day months ago.

_It's because I'm Muggle-born._

Ginny had been ashamed of Hermione.

_It's because I'm Muggle-born._

Even those who sympathized with those of Muggle birth were starting to hesitate. It was getting worse. Muggle-borns couldn't go to school, couldn't work jobs that would allow them to thrive, couldn't even play sodding Quidditch!

_What's next? Slavery? Imprisonment? What the piss did I fight for all those years if all I feel is completely trapped with nowhere to go and no true friends? When will the Ministry help me? Help US?_

Hermione fought the urge to weep, tightening her fingers into fists and pressing against the worn cushions of her sofa until her knuckles were white. She had long ago stopped crying; it did no good. Taking several deep breaths, she fought to calm herself.

After all, she had Luna and Ron. Some people had no one! Luna was helping her pay the rent and Ron...

She stopped thinking. Thinking never did any good. Closing her eyes, Hermione rested her head against the back of the sofa and sighed.

Ron was working for the Ministry. An organization that was becoming increasingly more and more biased against those of Muggle birth. Though not yet panicked the twinges of concern were beginning to stir in Hermione's belly each time she turned on the television or listened to the wizarding wireless network. Who would be the new Minister? And would he help or further harm the fate of those like she was? She didn't want to cry; she didn't to know. She was terrified.

But at least she still had Luna, didn't she? Luna tried to understand the prejudice and she was strong and independent enough to shun those hateful beliefs that were beginning to take hold in wizarding England. And she was patient.

_I must never take her for granted and I must try to be more patient, like she is._

Worry overwhelmed poor Hermione as she curled up to try and take a restless nap in the flat that she could barely pay for.

In a few months it would be December; it would be the holiday season and she wasn't sure how she would make ends meet.


	3. Chapter 3 - The New Minister

_Thanks for the continued readership; here's the new update and introduction of the new Minister for Magic. Seems like Ron might have a bit of a conflict. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

**3 – The New Minister**

* * *

_This morning I looked into the bathroom mirror and saw myself in a completely new light. I hate to be ashamed of what I am. I don't see anything different in myself. I still breathe. I still laugh. I hunger and thirst. And I cast magic stronger and more complicated than any of those who think they have purer blood. What's blood matter? So I'm Muggle-born - does that make me an abomination to be shunned? Am I a freak of nature, less than the confident and brilliant woman I should feel I am? Is Ron ashamed of me?_

Hermione stared at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, swallowing hard. She grimaced as she tasted something bitter. Amongst a large group of supporters, Lucius Malfoy smiled at the camera as he was declared the new Minister for Magic. No matter the smile that lit up his pale face and the neat way his platinum hair was pulled back, Hermione would never forget the way the man had looked at her while they were in battle - with hatred, fury and blood lust. She would forever see the new Minister as a monster.

"It can't be!"

Her gasp seemed much too loud in the small living room. Ron stood only a few feet away, his freckles seemingly brighter against the pallor of his face.

"Look, Hermione, we don't know why some things happen but-"

Hermione tossed the paper aside with growing vehemence.

"No, we don't, but this?"

She locked her angry eyes with Ron's, her face a mask of incredulity.

"This is...rubbish! This is atrocious! This is-"

Hermione didn't have words for a few moments as her eyes were torn back to the photograph of Lucius Malfoy as he offered smiles to his adoring public. It infuriated Hermione that no one seemed to see through the genteel demeanor, or the put-on smile. Lucius seemed to radiate warmth and charm that she had never seen in him before.

All she could recall from her few moments in his presence was utter disdain and the cold, empty gray eyes.

Hermione shuddered, tearing her gaze away from the paper and this time for good. Ron was watching her and she knew the look well - it was the same one that he wore when they were fighting and he knew he had done something wrong. Except this time-

"He's going to be my new boss, Hermione."

_That_was the problem, Hermione realized. She feared that reality more than anything else for it meant that Muggle-borns were doomed to struggle even more than they already did! Could no one see? Did no one care for equality? Would wizarding Britain truly allow a man as callous and prejudiced have so much influence?

Blinking furiously, Hermione turned towards the tiny window of her flat, the one that overlooked the drab and cement-walled garden below.

"You think me stupid?"

"No, I-"

Once more, something stopped Ron from continuing, a note of hesitancy in his voice when he continued.

"I understand why you might be upset, but, really, 'Mione."

Whirling around, just her look stopped any words that Ron might have voiced.

"No! You don't understand!"

She hurled the accusation violently, and it had a most desired effect; Ron grew pale, all the blood draining from his face, leaving behind unsightly freckles.

"You don't know what it's been like for me, Ron! Living in this bloody city where I don't mean anything, where I haven't an opportunity to better myself! And it's _their_fault!"

She sneered towards the Prophet.

"Men like _him!_Disgusting, worthless pureblooded trash!"

It didn't matter that such a phrase seemed just as bigoted as all those she had heard over the last ten years. It didn't matter because they didn't know what it felt like for a Muggle-born. They never would. Tears of anger and despair filled Hermione's eyes and she couldn't look at Ron for a long time.

"I'm so afraid!"

It was true and Hermione had hoped she would never have to speak the words. Speaking them made it all the more true. She could live in the prison that had been her silence because sometimes if something wasn't said it wasn't true.

But now it was different.

"I'm afraid that more and more will fall into this belief that Muggle-borns aren't equal to the pureblooded! I should be in school, Ronald! I should be working at the Ministry and what am I doing?"

The thought of her unpaid bills, of the disgusting, dingy little flat, the hopeless future, bleak and gray, nearly made Hermione want to sink onto the worn sofa and weep. It was only the shredded remnants of her pride that she was for some unknown reason still clutching to, that refused to allow her bitter tears.

Ron, who looked a bit ill, walked towards her, offering a hand though he didn't know what _else_he could offer his distraught girlfriend. He only hoped she would not cry because surely then he wouldn't know what to do. But Hermione didn't take his offered hand, instead, making a tiny, choked sound and rushing from the room into the even smaller bedroom. Here the window overlooked the nearly empty street below her flat. It was later evening and most of the traffic was over. Very few traveled this far east in the city anyway.

"Hermione."

Ron's voice was cajoling, even a bit contrite, as if he blamed himself for what she was going through.

Hermione sniffed knowing that no amount of pity would make things right and now with the dirty, hateful..._Malfoy _as the Minister-

She didn't want to think about it. She _couldn't_think about it!

"Ron, I need to be alone," she said then, her voice choked and weak. Pathetic. She was pathetic, wasn't she? That's why she wasn't as good as the others; that's why the Ministry wanted to get rid of all her kind.

Jesus.

Ron had not moved; she could feel his presence, could smell the faint spicy sweetness of his cologne.

''Please," she said in a choked whisper.

For a few moments she could still feel him behind her but then a moment later she heard the tell-tale squeaky sound of her front door as he shut it, leaving her alone. Only then did Hermione break down under the burden of her worries and frustrations.

She retrieved the paper from where she had tossed it and crumbled it up with one, furious movement, hurling it across the tiny room towards the trash bin.

"I hate this! I hate Malfoy and I hate Ronald!"

Hermione had faced bitter disappointment in the past and she expected that after her emotional outrage she would go back to feeling empty again. But this time she didn't. This time the fear and pain would not go away.

* * *

Luna was watching Hermione with concern as the brunette paced back and forth across the room.

"Do you think he might just not have had enough time to come here and get you?"

Luna's voice was quiet, tentative. She wondered if Hermione could even hear her. At any rate she didn't respond, continuing her frantic, angry pacing without cease.

"Hermione."

It did no good and Hermione continued her pacing until finally, after what seemed like ages, she slowed, and then stopped.

"It's been over an hour!"

She whirled, fire in her amber-colored eyes.

"He's never once stood me up for our noon day meals! Never once!" she raged. "I know Malfoy has something to do with this, that cad! He's the one that only two years ago was trying to _kill_ Muggle-borns! Does anyone actually think he's changed?"

Luna sighed.

"How could he possibly be doing this to you on _purpose_? It's not like he knows you, is it?"

Hermione scowled and then turned towards the only window in the room. It offered meager, gray light.

Luna was right, she realized. Lucius Malfoy couldn't have possibly done such a thing intentionally. After all, in his eyes she amounted to nothing so why would he ever have bothered?

A leaden feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach and Hermione stared out of the window, swallowing hard.

"No, you're right."

Luna exhaled.

"Come sit. You're worrying yourself silly over nothing."

Hermione paused for a moment and then moved to join Luna, falling onto the sofa with a relenting sigh.

"I'm afraid."

How many times had she said that in the last few months? With each passing day the burden of her fear was growing heavier. What if society came between herself and Ron? What if Lucius Malfoy's beliefs were as fanatical as Lord Voldemort's had been? What if the life she was living - as meager and oppressive as it was - turned into even more of a nightmare?

The questions rolled around in her mind, driving her mad and Hermione wished more than anything for a pensieve.

"Of what, darling?"

Hermione felt Luna's hand on her arm.

"What if...what if I...what if Ron's relationship with me costs him...can they do that? Could they punish him because of our relationship? What if he jeopardizes his position with the Ministry? I can't bear the thought that-"

Her words were broken by a choked sob and Luna pulled Hermione into a hug.

"There, there," she soothed. "Don't worry about something you can't help right now, Hermione."

Luna's words served only to make Hermione feel more helpless.

_I'm drowning._

It was a distant thought and her heart ached with pain, fear and uncertainty.

* * *

_One day later_

Ron looked down at the official paperwork stamped with the Ministry insignia. He read the words again and again.

_Bloody hell, I'm an Auror, aren't I?_

There was a rush of elation and he had to keep himself from whooping out loud in his excitement. There had been months and months of training, hours of preparation, worries and fears he would not get where he needed to be...all of it. He had wondered if they looked at him differently because he was from a poorer family.

Not only that but it was common knowledge that the Weasleys were 'Muggle-born sympathizers.'

For ages that hadn't meant anything to Ron; he had never believed that blood purity had anything to do with magical ability. He knew others - hateful, close-minded others - who believed that but he never had.

But now the world was different; more and more of those 'others' had influence and things were changing slowly. Ron didn't understand it and it wasn't fair but the world was different.

He blinked hard.

_I'm an Auror!_

Ron pushed away his flood of worries and thought of Harry as he grinned stupidly at the offer of employment through the Ministry of Magic.

_You'd be proud of me, mate. It's what we both wanted!_

The offer letter trembled slightly in Ron's grip as he lowered his hand for a moment, thinking of all those things already behind him and what was to come. He thought of the hours of studies late into countless nights, hours of training until he had been too tired to stand and worst of all the slow estrangement he felt from Hermione-

_No! I won't sully my joy by thinking of that now! I won't!_

But his girlfriend's sad eyes floated across his mind. Ron closed his eyes tightly.

He couldn't think of Hermione. He couldn't because each time he did he felt an endless tide of fear and guilt. In this changing world he wondered about the state of their relationship and he was trying to hold onto what felt like a union built on quicksand. She was angry with him all the time now; she was furious that he spent so much time away and she was resentful of the liberties granted to him - liberties taken away from her one by one.

Ron still believed she was the brightest witch he had ever known and a flood of pride washed over him each time he thought of her. But it didn't matter anymore what she was capable of; they only cared about her parentage - that she was born of two Muggles.

_It isn't fair! But what can I do?_

The thought of giving up his Ministry post now seemed the height of foolishness. Why abandon his dreams and throw away all his hard work when in the end he would have to get another job somewhere else and Hermione would STILL be in the same predicament. It seemed a callous viewpoint he knew but...

_The way the world is going..._

"Mister Weasley, is it?"

Ron jumped at the silky voice behind him. He felt his breakfast threatening him as he turned to find Lucius Malfoy watching him. The new Minister wore a mild, curious expression.

"Ah, Arthur's youngest son, yes?"

Ron nodded mutely, swallowing hard as he searched for a proper response. On one hand this man was no his superior. And on the other hand he was a vile, bigoted snake. It wasn't bad enough that the world wasn't a fair place anymore and now this man would...

"Seems your studies paid off. And here I believed you would have gotten into the Ministry due to your father's position."

The words were smooth, noncommittal. But Ron knew better than to take them at face value. Malfoy had always been hateful. His blood began to boil but he remained calm.

"No, Sir. I finished my training with top marks."

"It appears so."

Ron waited for a few moments and Malfoy watched him curiously for a few moments before continuing.

"I haven't forgotten, Weasley."

"Forgotten, Sir?"

"Who you used to chum around with."

Ron remained silent. He would not besmirch Harry's memory nor would he bad-mouth Hermione.

Malfoy's eyes glittered.

"Much time has passed since last we...faced one another. Much has changed and many have died. Let the dead stay dead. I do happen to remember one that you were close to. That little Mud-"

He paused, cocking his head and re-choosing his words.

"Muggle-born, wasn't she? Hermione Granger."

Ron stared up at the Minister in silence and Malfoy took this as a sign to continue.

"Don't have much to say, do you? Very well, Weasley. I'll remind you that I do not tolerate such...wasting of time. You are a representative of the British Ministry now. I will overlook all your past grievances but let me remind you that I will not be so lenient in the future."

Ron swallowed.

"Yes, Sir."

"I'm glad we've come to an understanding."

Then Malfoy smiled; it was one of those smiles that never reached his eyes.

"Good chat, Weasley. I'm sure I'll be seeing much more of you in the next few weeks."

Ron slumped against the wall, feeling weak as the taller, fair-haired man turned, sweeping his Ministry robes aside as he began to walk down the corridor.

Ron took a quick breath and then gathered himself. He had only a few minute before flooing to meet Hermione for a quick bite. But just as he began to trot in the direction opposite the one Malfoy had taken, he heard the drawl of his silken voice.

"Oh, Weasley, I rather forgot to mention that I'll need you in my office in ten minutes."

Ron whirled around, turning pink from agitation.

"But I have an appointment I can't miss!"

"You'll have to miss it, won't you? This isn't school any longer, Weasley. It isn't fun and games. It's work; work comes first."

"But I-"

His argument was weak at best and soon his voice faded away. Malfoy turned and disappeared in a split-second, leaving Ron alone. Sighing, he squared his shoulders, feeling miserable. This would be the second day in a row that he wouldn't be able to meet Hermione; he knew she was angry.

_She'll have to understand!_

It was work, after all! It wasn't like he was meeting someone else! He was an Auror now and he wanted to job so he could support his own family, whenever he and Hermione finally married and started having children. Malfoy - slimy git that he was - had a good point.

_I'm not in school; I'm a man now. I have responsibilities and Hermione will have to understand._

Shoulders slumped Ron made his way down the corridor towards the central chamber of the Ministry. His fists were clenched and he refused to look up, angry and frustrated with himself and the situation.

No matter how hard he justified his choice, the guilt would not go away. It followed him, clinging to him like the shadows.


	4. Chapter 4 - Rotten on the Inside

_It has been a rough few months; I hope you continue to follow this and enjoy it. It comes slowly but this update should shine some light on the Malfoy family. I am aware that I have created a magical university for this story which never existed in canon. So I guess you can say I do not own Harry Potter but I do take credit for the mention of the furthering of magical education. I also own all characters not created by JK Rowling. ;) Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

_**4. Rotten on the Inside**_

* * *

_Several of our reputable sources state that one of the young men said to be involved is Master Draco Malfoy, son of the new Minister for Magic. This seems a delicate matter and the appropriate measures are being taken to determine what, if any charges will be brought against those involved in the events of last evening. The Wizengamot is to gather and determine the next course of action. We have attempted to reach Minister Lucius Malfoy but I am told by his advisors that he will not speak of this matter. Details will follow as they are made available. _

The paper lay on the massive, wooden desk that faced the rolling hills along his property in Wiltshire.

The picture below the short yet damning blurb showed the east side of Gringott's Wizarding Bank. The building rose up against a sky full of clouds and there was a small gathering of goblins that milled around the front steps of the bank, mumbling to each other and looking rather grim.

Lucius Malfoy could only look for so long before his anger overwhelmed him and he shoved the _Prophet _vehemently across the smooth desk so that it fluttered from the table and landed on the carpeted ground with a satisfying thump.

"He's _your_ son!"

He exclaimed this petulantly, without turning away, knowing his wife stood in the doorway of his study waiting for him to react. It was she that had followed the house elves to the room when they had brought him his morning paper.

Lucius heard Narcissa sigh. She wasn't a woman of many words but she could infuriate him just the same with the sounds she made.

"Well, he _is_!" he pressed in a curt tone, swallowing back bitter words he wished he could say. Narcissa took a step into Lucius' study.

"Ah, he's only _my_ son when he does something wrong?"

Her words were gentle; Lucius knew Narcissa wasn't after a row and yet he still felt his blood boiling. He whirled to face his ever-patient wife.

"That's twice in less than a month!"

The image on the front of the _Daily Prophet _was burned in his mind. His son's sullen expression as he stood behind a row of goblins alongside two, snot-faced truants he called his friends.

"I raised him better than this!"

Narcissa watched him with mild indifference. She had long ago gotten used to his sudden bouts of rage. Just like his tendency towards self-absorption and immature stubbornness, these rages were something he had little control over.

Lucius paced back and forth across the sumptuous throw rug in front of his desk. His fists opened and clenched shut and his jaw was set squarely. Though Narcissa found her husband quite handsome, in moments like this she likened him to an angry troll.

As the seconds passed, Lucius grew angrier. Soon he was stomping, boots hitting the wooden floorboards with heavy thumps. Two spots of color appeared high on his well-sculpted cheekbones and wisps of his silky, white-blond hair had escaped his hair band.

"It was Malfoy money that paid for Hogwarts! I've given him the best preparation imaginable! And now he attends one of the most expensive magical universities on this side of England! And this is how he chooses to repay me?! His face splashed on the cover of the _Daily Prophet_? These run-ins with the Wizengamot? Bloody hell, Narcissa! Next it will be Azkaban!"

Narcissa stared at him calmly from her place at the tall, wooden doorway.

"Come, Lucius. It won't be anything nearly so terrible."

Lucius stopped in mid-stomp, his head snapping in his wife's direction.

"Not so terrible, is it?" he mocked her. His face was the color of bone; he was ghostly pale and drawn. "I am the Minister for _Magic_! I cannot have this _smear_ on my _reputation!_ Do you hear me? _Your_ son is a smear on my reputation!"

Narcissa shook her head, knowing at times like this, respectful silence was best. Lucius could not be reasoned with. She watched as he moved to his desk and smashed one open palm down against the wood. The sound, which broke the silence, was like that of a cracking whip. Then again, another smack. And another. He continued to slam his palm against the desk so that the room was soon filled with the drumbeat of Lucius Malfoy's fury.

As his anger rose to a fevered pitch, his face turned red and he began to curse under his breath. Spittle flew from his lips; his eyes took on an animalistic glimmer. He continued to pound against the desk, cursing and growling and Narcissa knew he would continue until he became spent. She waited patiently; after nearly twenty-five years of marriage there were no secrets when it came to Lucius' volatile temperament.

Narcissa was used to his violent fits; she was accustomed to his prejudice and his snootiness. None of it could be helped. What did worry her, however, was how it had affected their son. There was no denying it: twenty years of indifference at best and neglect at worst had done damage to Draco. The saddest part was that Lucius could not see it, refusing to take any blame for Draco's truant behavior.

Narcissa waited with patience. Presently, Lucius ceased his violent behavior and she watched him fall limply into the plush chair that sat behind his desk. His fists were red from the pounding. He stared up at her, blinking dully, as if he wasn't sure where he was.

The silence was deafening and she acted to end it.

"Lucius, you must stop acting this way every time something doesn't go your way."

Narcissa spoke the words but she didn't truly mean them. Years of marriage to him behind her she knew better than to hope that he might listen to her. He never had before.

"Don't you know your place, woman?" he snapped at her. "Better keep silent if you haven't got bloody sense."

With that he stood and stalked from the room, head and shoulders held high. Narcissa held her breath a few seconds waiting to see if he would return but he didn't. She was alone.

Standing, she moved towards the wide windows that overlooked the rolling hills of the Malfoy property. The house seemed deathly still so that she could only hear the steady ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the distant foyer.

Narcissa waited, back stiff with anticipation. She was expecting Draco that afternoon; it would be her son's first visit in weeks and now she wondered if it would do more harm than good to have him visit.

Sooner or later Lucius would return to her, desperately sorry and full of compliments and promises that he would not get angry with her again. Twenty years ago, when Draco had been born, she would have believed him. Even ten years ago she would have felt that piteous tug at her heartstrings and _wanted_ to believe him.

But not anymore.

Thirty-four years. Had it really be that long? Yes, and yet Narcissa still remembered him vividly from that day, at King's Cross Station, waiting to board the Hogwarts Express. She remembered he had been tall for his eleven years, with an air of sophistication and mystery that she hadn't found in other boys her age. She remembered the boy who had feared nothing and yet cowered before his father. She remembered the boy who had been impossibly stubborn and determined. She remembered how he could, in the same breath, both belittle and build up with just his words.

They had both been sorted into Slytherin; she had harbored a secret crush on him, much like most of the other girls in their house. He had been popular amongst his peers and ambitious enough to receive top marks in his studies. And of course, her family had adored him, naturally. His bloodline was as pure as winter's first snowfall - he made sure that everyone with ears knew it.

Narcissa had both hated Lucius Malfoy and yet, loved him at the same time. It had been nothing short of a miracle that he had eventually noticed her. Perhaps it had been propriety; the name Black had always been spoken highly of amongst those in their circle. But secretly, Narcissa had hoped that he cared for her simply because of _who_ she was and not her name.

Had it been too much to ask of a man as cold as Lucius that he might learn to love her?

She had never learned the answer to her question but nine years after meeting him that day at King's Cross, she had married him anyway.

_For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad-_

There were two sides to Lucius Malfoy. The one side she had known as a girl in school. He was wildly intelligent and could be charming, caring even. He had a rapier wit, could be gracious if needed and in their moments alone, a good, conscientious lover.

Their marriage, by all standards, had been given ever opportunity of survival. They had not struggled; they had lived comfortably in upper-crust pureblood society. She knew she had been a lucky woman to have been chosen by a man from the Malfoy family; her mother had never let her forget _that. _

_In good times and in bad-_

It had been that other side of Lucius, the side that was _bad_-

Only two weeks into the marriage, Narcissa had learned what it meant to cross her new husband. He was cruel and controlling; possessed of a temper so short it could not be managed easily and childlishly petulant when things did not go his way. He had a predisposition to fall into violent fits of rage and though he had never touched her, Narcissa feared her husband's fury. He was unpredictable when in the grip of one of his episodes, much like a wild animal and she had spent many cowering from him while at the same time, feeling a deep, lingering pity for him.

Narcissa knew Lucius hated himself; she believed without a doubt that his bouts of inexplicable rage were linked to his inability to accept things he could not change. This impasse between the man he was and the man he wanted to be was what caused the war inside of him. She only hoped that she would never be a casualty.

Within five years Narcissa had gotten pregnant. She hoped that this would be the thing that would make Lucius realize he was not a horrible man and that he would have to focus on someone other than himself - a nearly impossible feat to be sure. She prayed throughout her pregnancy that Lucius find the peace he was desperately searching for before the baby came.

But he did not. And their son's birth had not changed him.

Though Narcissa could tell in small, insignificant ways that Lucius did love their son he did little to show the boy during his formative years. The elder Malfoy seemed indifferent at best, only noticing Draco when he did something wrong. Nothing was ever good enough. Draco did not get high enough marks in school. Draco did not stand up straight enough. Draco did not take enough pride in his Malfoy name. Draco didn't this and Draco didn't that-

How as a boy to learn anything in that sort of environment but self-loathing? And so then, the cycle would start again.

Narcissa stared at the beauty of her property with unseeing eyes. There was no sign of Draco anywhere and she sighed.

Lucius' indifference about Draco's life had caused the boy to develop an overcompensating nature. Though supremely intelligent, the boy did not take well to not being the one with top marks in his year. Though quite attractive, with Lucius' strong, Romanesque features and her fair coloring, Draco did not allow anyone to see him with a hair out of place. And when it came to his shortcomings, Draco was quite happy to ridicule those better than he.

So much like Lucius in that respect.

Draco had noticed that nothing - not his intelligence, his athletic prowess, or his popularity - stirred his father's passions. So then he had taken to other, more disturbing ways, to get Lucius to notice him.

And that's when their troubles had begun.

Unfortunately, Lucius had not seen it that way.

As Narcissa fell into worry about her small family she spied Draco stalking up the neatly kept property and her heart rose and fell as it had each time her son would return to her – to the hell that she had allowed Lucius to create.

* * *

_Three hours earlier_

Draco Malfoy watched the gorgeous redhead from his place on the beige-colored chaise lounge. He had arranged his arms and legs just so – displaying himself to his best advantage. After all, shy girls needed a bit of encouragement. He had found that being too direct scared them away.

_Show them what you have to offer and they'll fall into your lap like ripe plums._

When she took another, curious glimpse in his direction, Draco rewarded her with a sly grin that could be only be described as enticing. She blushed instantly and he offered her a clandestine wink. Even though she was clearly attracted to him, a frown marred her otherwise flawless face.

"Patricia, darling," Draco crooned, gracefully rising from the comfortable chaise to reach for her hand.

He was slightly annoyed, not being used to being rebuffed. Though he enjoyed the chase as much as the next bloke, Draco was used to having girls fall easily for his well-acted charms.

This girl was different. She was bookish and quiet, given quickly to innocent blushes, graced with emerald-colored eyes and dancer's body. She was a terrible challenge because she didn't want him quite as much as all the others. This, of course, made Draco covet her all the more.

He _would_ have Patricia O'Flaherty – he would have that creamy, dreamy body in every position possible. That delicious thought made Draco re-double his efforts for she was quite a lovely prize. Not only that but she was also coveted amongst his small group of best mates because she happened to be the eldest daughter of the University Dean.

Draco smiled to himself. Yes, she would be quite the elusive catch.

With that last thought, Draco arranged his features into what he hoped were a more apologetic look and he tried once again.

"Patricia, you know how the paper likes to exaggerate."

Patricia was blushing fiercely; he green eyes were alight with anger as she held up her copy of that morning's _Prophet_.

"_This_ is an exaggeration, Draco?"

Everything about Patricia O'Flaherty was sweet and mild, including the way with which she accused him of his supposed wrongdoings.

His laughing image had been gloriously splashed on the front cover of the paper as he and two of his best mates stood before one of the ugly, sharp-toothed employees of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. In spite of what may have looked like damning evidence, Draco remained coolly distant.

"And you would buy into this biased rubbish, would you? I thought you prided yourself on your intelligence?"

Patricia's green eyes flickered with uncertainty behind her neat, wire-rimmed glasses.

"What's that supposed to mean, Draco Malfoy? Have you forgotten that my father is the Dean of-?"

Draco interrupted her with a flourish.

"Yes, yes! And my father is the Minister for Magic! The Prophet is simply a rag that wants to make him look bad. They'll use whatever means necessary, in my opinion."

Draco knew that remaining adamant was the key to smoothing over Patricia's ruffled feathers. He watched as she stiffened and took a deep breath. He was certain it was to calm herself before she spoke.

This time her voice was measurably less agitated.

"If my father even remotely suspects that you and I spent time together this past weekend, he'll-"

Draco raised one silvery eyebrow with amusement at Patricia's sudden blush.

"He'll what, love?"

He had stepped forward, his lips turned up in a wolfish grin. She grew flustered. That was the problem with shy girls; the poor, young darlings were much too easily manipulated. Draco, of course, took advantage.

"Would he hate me if he knew me? Would I damage your pristine reputation?"

He asked these questions in a voice only a lover would use. Patricia seemed both bewildered and bewitched by him all at the same time. She was a girl, after all, and prone to Draco's charms.

"It-it isn't that, exactly," she faltered. "Being the daughter of the Dean is…I have to be careful about…"

Draco had stepped even closer so that their bodies touched.

"You worry so much," he murmured.

He had kissed her that previous weekend; she had tasted of honey. Now, he got the tiniest whisper of the same, sugared scent.

"Why don't you focus on what's important?"

Patricia watched, green eyes wide with passion and innocence, as Draco ran a single, thin finger along her face before winding one of her luscious, red locks around it.

"W-what…what's important?" she echoed stupidly.

"That's right. What's important is how _you_ feel about me?"

Draco moved in for the kill and finished his soft words by brushing his lips against hers with just enough firmness to leave her wanting more. Patricia sighed and wrapped her arms around him.

Draco rested his chin atop the red-gold hair that cascaded down her back. He smirked. Women were too easy to figure out. Much too easy.

* * *

A soft pop signaled Draco's arrival at Malfoy Manor several hours later.

The estate stood tall and stony against a colorless, cloudless sky. The large house was flanked on either side by magnificent, rolling hills and meticulously landscaped trees and shrubs. It was made of stone and overlooked the hillside in a regal manner. The foundation was firm; it had good bones, as his grandfather had said on several occasions.

To the random onlooker it all seemed in order.

But Draco hated it all.

He hated what it looked like because to him it was akin to a lovely apple with a rotten core. All _looked_ in order but that was not the reality. The reality was that Draco had a weak mother who stood by a man who chose to abuse and control her and a father who was a selfish, hateful tyrant who noticed nothing but himself.

The two of them had created a sort of living hell and Draco had been a result of that.

_Perhaps that makes me the devil, _he thought with a half-smirk.

The wind picked up a bit, ruffling Draco's traveling cloak as he began to purposefully stride towards the pebbled walk that led between the two lines of tall, manicured bushes all the way up to the menacing house. Even from a distance he could feel the hate that festered there. Merlin, he _hated_ this house! Nearly as much as he abhorred his father.

_I can't wait to hear that old codger turn red and yell about what a horrid son I've been so I can laugh in his sodding, self-righteous face._

Over the last few years Draco had found a sort of sadistic amusement in finally getting his father to notice him. Growing up he had always felt like he didn't exist. His mother had offered the propriety words and comfort he required as a child. He couldn't blame her for being so cold. The Manor had always been a place without warmth, without love.

But his father, oh, that was a different story altogether.

Except when he did something wrong, Draco hadn't mattered. It did no good to get top marks in his lessons. It was no achievement to be a Seeker for Slytherin Quidditch team for his father had never once attended a game. What did it matter that he had been one of the most popular boys in school or that he had been made Prefect towards the end of his time at Hogwarts? His father hadn't cared.

Since the fall of Voldemort it had become nearly impossible, even for a pureblood, to get accepted at the University of the Higher Study of Magical Arts and yet Draco had gotten an early acceptance letter and had been working with their Potions Department for months now.

Secretly, this achievement had been most important to Draco. His father, however, had not noticed.

The logical part of Draco's brain told him that it didn't matter who noticed what so long as he was living his life to his own expectations. Still there was that tiny part, nibbling away at the corners of his thoughts, telling him something was wrong.

_Draco, stand up straight!_

_Draco, this isn't good enough, is it?_

_Draco, you know you're better than that bushy-haired Mudblood!_

_Draco, those other boys are flying faster than you, aren't they?_

_Draco, don't you forget that you're a Malfoy!_

_Draco, stop crying, for bloody sakes! You're a man not a child!_

_Draco, Draco, Draco-_

Draco shivered as he reached the massive, wrap-around porch of the Manor. He was suddenly cold and knew it wasn't from the weather. His face was devoid of color, bloodless lips pressed together in a hateful scowl. His hand was white-knuckled as it gripped the knocker on the front door of the Manor. Draco looked the picture of disgust and hatred.

Immediately upon the rapt sound of the knocker the door creaked open and two house elves stood before him.

"Master Draco!"

Hideous things they were; Draco hoped never to deal with them when he owned his own home. He ignored them, tuning out their excited squeaks and words of welcome and swept into the front foyer, head held high. Like always, he decided he would not let his father's indifference bother him. Like always, he failed.

His mother waited for him in the front room, a sort of sitting room where they met with their casual acquaintances. It was a room for those who were only allowed to see what Lucius wanted them to see. The room was filled with antique furniture, wooden and ornately carved. The curtains were thick and luxurious, lining the large, floor to ceiling windows. There were two dark velvet sofas and a small fireplace that served as a connection to the Floo. There were many like these throughout the rest of the Manor, Draco knew.

"Draco," she greeted him, standing and offering her arms in a hug that Draco did not accept.

He stood in the center of the room, standing on her most prized Turkish rug and relishing that his dirty feet might tarnish it somewhat.

"Mother," he acknowledged, offering a stiff nod but not moving to accept her embrace.

She faltered and Draco saw her face trembling a bit as her hands lowered in defeat.

"Welcome home, my dear."

Draco would have welcomed the words had they come from someone else. He needed to hear such words like a thirsty man needed water. Long ago, however, Draco had stopped hoping in his mother's love. She had not been strong enough to rise above the abuse doled out to her.

_I hate him; I hate him for what he did to her. I hate him for what he's done to us all._

"This will never be home, Mother."

His voice was drawn and emotionless, his eyes haunted by things neither one would speak of. He gave his mother one last look before turning to walk away from her, his footsteps fading and dying. Narcissa was left alone, once more drowning in her misery, knowing that it was too late to undo all the damage that had already been done.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Insolent

_So I've been away for months. If you want some info you can read my author's page…either way, I'm starting to get back into the swing of things, so to speak. Last we left this story I had introduced the sad state of the Malfoy family. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

_**5. The Insolent**_

* * *

_Our sources have yet to identify the other perpetrators in this sad case and Gringotts Wizarding Bank officials state that they will continue their search until all those guilty are apprehended. The son of Madame S. Zabini is being questioned about the matter of the possible security breach at the bank as it was her vault which was nearly broken into. The goblins in question have apologized to those involved stating that they will now take higher security measures. Bank security has stated that Draco Malfoy was visiting his family vault at the same time of the attempted break-in and was found near Madame Zabini's vault. The other man involved escaped. Another goblin is suspected of foul play and this matter is already before the Goblin Liaison Office. We at the Prophet ensure continuing coverage on this issue-_

Lucius Malfoy heaved the paper away, his face red.

"How did you break into that vault?"

Draco had joined his father in the study shortly after greeting his mother. He offered the elder Malfoy a cold look.

"I didn't break in. Didn't you just read that bleeding article? They said _attempted_ break-in - which makes a load of difference, don't you think?"

Red faced, Lucius began to rage.

"Stop your sodding technicalities, Draco! You broke into someone else's vault!"

Draco gave his father a rotten stare.

"I didn't."

Lucius took two breaths, trying to calm himself.

"Who was with you?"

"No one."

All color faded from Lucius' face.

"HOW DID YOU BREAK INTO THAT VAULT?!"

Draco scowled as he wiped spittle from his chin.

"Why do you so quickly assume it was me?" the younger man inquired, his tone cool in the face of his father's burning rage. "Zabini's an old whore; how do those stupid goblins know it wasn't one of her numerous lovers? She's got plenty."

Lucius' shaking hand flew to his wand which he pointed in his son's direction.

"You insolent bastard!" he hissed.

Draco laughed.

"Hell, I'd bet _you_ were one of them."

The cracking sound of Lucius' palm against Draco's face was loud in the suddenly silent room. The two men stared at one another, one indifferent and one filled with unbridled fury.

"You fool! You'll make me the laughing stock at the Ministry! Do you know how much I've invested in you? How much I've given you and your mother? How hard I work?"

Draco studied his fingernails for an infuriating moment before speaking.

"It's hardly work though, is it? Sitting in that posh office, doing nothing and ministering to a world you don't give a sodding piss about?"

Once more Lucius' wand came up though this time with much less control. Draco laughed, watching the wavering tip for a moment. He delighted in his father's slow unraveling with relish. He decided he _would_ tell his father what had happened that day in Gringotts but it was much too entertaining not to string him along for a short bit.

Even though his cheek burned it was _well_ worth the irritating pain.

Lucius looked as if he would faint.

"Why?"

The word was like a moan of pain.

"Why do you do this to me?"

Draco laughed once again, a cruel, cold sound.

"Oh, stop your bloody histrionics! Not everything is about _you_, Father! In fact if you cared to notice, life has gone on whether you were involved or not, you bloody, arrogant, cheating, manwhore bastard!"

Lucius looked stunned.

"You ungrateful, little piss ant! I should send you to Azkaban!"

Draco smirked.

"Why don't you?" He challenged, his molten silver eyes narrowing into tiny slits. "Go ahead, I _dare_ you."

The silence was deafening.

"You won't," Draco egged on. "You won't because it will tarnish that false reputation you're trying to uphold! Can't have your own son causing problems, can you? So hide him away like some dirty little secret!"

Each word was sharp like a dagger, piercing whatever self-control Lucius was still maintaining. But in spite of his son's baiting, the older Malfoy refused to bite.

Silence followed until Draco spoke once more, softly this time.

"_Fortius Quo Fidelius_."

Lucius' eyes narrowed as Draco continued.

"That's Gringotts motto. Quite ironic since you accuse me of breaking into a vault there. _Fortius Quo Fidelius_. Look it up...strength through loyalty."

Draco's regarded his father coolly.

"I would never expect you to understand loyalty, father. But I am loyal to my friends."

Lucius' eyes shot open wide.

"Loyalty?!" he nearly screeched. "What's bloody loyalty have to do with this?! Shouldn't you have loyalty to your family name? To your own father for Merlin's bleeding sake?!"

Draco remained cool in the face of his father's rage.

"I am loyal to those who have offered it to me."

Lucius stared, speechless. Draco continued in a bored tone.

"There is an heirloom in Madame Whore-zini's vault that belongs to Blaise. I was simply attempting to return to him what is rightfully his."

"An heirloom?"

"Are you a simpleton, Father? Or are you just deaf?"

Lucius remained silent, glaring at Draco with contempt.

"It was given to Blaise by his father - his _real_ father - and it is worth a pretty price in Galleons. He simply wants it back. It does not belong to husband number four or five. And it certainly doesn't belong to number six who is the one that refuses to allow Blaise access to his family heirlooms. Smug bastard thinks just because he happens to be the husband of the month he gets to rule the house."

Draco laughed.

"Just wait until she pitches him like she did the last five. Bloody whore."

Lucius' anger had seemingly dissipated, much to Draco's displeasure. The older Malfoy was pacing the room slowly.

"So you got involved simply because...?"

Draco sneered at his father.

"Simply because he needed help. You asked why I supposedly did it."

"Ah! So that means you _were_ involved?"

"If I _were_, I would have been given very good reason."

Lucius stopped before his son, gray eyes narrowing.

"You do realize that this kind of security breach at Gringotts could be punishable by prison?"

"I have realized that," replied Draco as he stood to face his father, speaking with mock sincerity. "But I know that my good old father would never let that happen, would he?"

Lucius nearly shook with rage.

"You're a no-good, spoiled, selfish prat!"

"Well, you know what they say, Father. The fruit doesn't fall very far from the tree," Draco replied conversationally, giving his father a cold smile and a pat on the shoulder. "You should be proud."

Lucius flung his son's hand away, glaring with a hatred that made Draco laugh.

"Tell Mother I won't be here for the Christmas festivities. Not that there ever _has_ been anything _festive_ here. I'd tell her myself but I don't have time to listen to her pretending to care."

Lucius watched Draco move towards the door that led into the upstairs hall. He said nothing, his face a hard mask of nothingness. Draco turned at the head of the stairs.

"Happy Christmas, Father," he drawled with honeyed insincerity.

Then he was gone with a pop.

* * *

_The Ministry and the Goblin Liaison Office are still leading ongoing investigations about this matter. The Minister of Magic has made an official statement about his own son's possible involvement. At this time it is not completely certain who was involved and if Draco Malfoy had anything to do with the attempted burglary of Madame S. Zabini's vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Lucius Malfoy, Minister for Magic, has stated that this event is 'tragic and in many ways unforgivable' and that those responsible will be 'reprimanded firmly and dealt with by the Wizengamot as deemed appropriate'. The Goblin Liaison is also investigating the goblin Dwenddi who is said to have helped the perpetrators get to Madame Zabini's vault. We will provide new information as it becomes available..._

Hermione sat curled up on her sofa, a book on her lap. She was trying to enjoy her morning and was starting to regret inviting Ron to stay the night before. He had the wireless blaring with the latest news coming from the Ministry about the possible break-in at Gringotts.

Normally, Hermione would have been rather interested in the developing story but somehow this time she wasn't so.

She had wanted to awaken in the circle of her boyfriend's arms, kiss him awake and enjoy those few, precious moments when nothing but the two of them mattered. Sometimes when she first awoke her dreams had allowed her to forget the way life was now, the slowly growing division between her and the rest of her friends - all of it. Those moments did not happen often but Hermione had hoped for one of them that morning.

Unfortunately, Ron had arisen early; he had turned on the news while he made coffee. And so Hermione had awoken to the tinny sound of the announcer and drunk her coffee in silence while watching Ron, hoping he would take some time to pay attention to her. It seemed that on this morning she would have to take a backseat to the news coming from the Ministry.

After long moments of just listening, Ron finally broke the silence.

"How long has it been since someone attempted to break into a vault at the bank?"

Hermione had just finished her coffee and rose from the comfort of her sofa to get more.

"The last time was when you, Harry and I were there," she replied softly, her mind racing back to that time.

It had been more dangerous then but at the same time she had felt like she _belonged_. Back then she had been Harry Potter's best friend and Ron had...loved her in a way that she feared he no longer loved her. In the midst of all the fighting and running for her life, Hermione had held onto a hope that things would get better. Had they? Voldemort was dead but so was Harry. With Voldemort's death came the end of his horrifying grip on the British Ministry. Yet now, years later, she still felt oppressed. Hermione knew that it wasn't just about her, of course. Somehow, society had not evolved with the vision of a newly united wizarding world. There were still deep chasms between those of pure blood and those who were Muggle-borns.

Voldemort was dead but prejudice and hatred had not died with him.

Ron was scratching his head.

"That's what I thought. Last week we had a meeting about increasing security within the Ministry but nothing about the bank."

"Ron, don't you think the Ministry is handling this rather lightly?"

Hermione had added cream to her coffee and studied her boyfriend over the rim of her mug. He looked tousled and sleepy; this was the way she liked to see him - relaxed.

Ron ran his fingers through his already messy hair.

"We haven't talked about it much, honestly. Though I was out for training the last three or so days...if they talked about it, I missed it, I dunno."

Hermione worked hard to not roll her eyes. She knew herself well enough that if she had been in Ron's position...well, there would be no uncertainty about what was going on. She watched him put his mug into her small, slightly rusted sink.

"Anyway, it can't have anything to do with dark magic. I would know about _that_."

"Don't be bloody daft, Ron. It's the _Malfoy_ family involved."

Ron frowned as if he had eaten something bad.

"Come off it, 'Mione. You know they aren't that bad."

"Really? Last time I remember, Lucius was nearly best mates with Voldemort."

This time Ron did not hide his annoyance.

"You know that's being a bit dramatic, don't you?"

Hermione tried to bit her tongue. In the back of her mind she knew that it wasn't Ron's fault; she knew that her friends weren't to blame for her own short patience fuse lately. But it couldn't be helped.

"I call it how it is, Ronald," she snapped. "That man is horrid and he has no business being the Minister for Magic! He's cold, hateful, prejudiced-"

Ron had turned pink.

"That's my boss you're talking about! That's my livelihood - OUR livelihood!"

Hermione had stormed back into her tiny sitting room and curled up into an angry ball on the sofa. She wasn't sure how to analyze her own emotions but she knew that her anger had stemmed from feeling useless and frustrated. No one could see how much she deserved to be doing what Ron was doing! No one understood that she was being wasted. No one.

"I'm so tired of this, Ron."

Her words were weak and emotionless. She tried to blink angry tears from her eyes.

Ron, pink-faced, had stormed after her and stood in front of the sofa, his blue eyes glaring.

"_You're_ tired of this, Hermione? What about me? What about your friends? You know, the people you've been ignoring even though they love you so bloody much that they can't stand it?"

She glared at him.

"You mean friends like your sister who was embarrassed to see me during that surprise visit to Holyhead?"

The thundering of Hermione's fury could not silence the guilt in her conscience at Ron's bewildered yet still angry expression. His brown eyes blazed.

"Hey, now, that's not fair! Ginny's under loads of pressure just like everyone else is!"

Hermione's guilt was not enough to erase the frustration that had been growing within her for months and months.

"What do you want me to do?" she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut against the torrent of tears that threatened her. She didn't want to cry.

"You want me to be happy for Luna who isn't as smart as I am and yet she gets to go to University while I wait sodding tables and a run-down pub? You want me to applaud you on your new position with the Ministry when I've wanted nothing more than to have a chance to be where you are? You want me to be thrilled for Ginny and her new athletic career when soon enough I won't even be able to set foot on a Quidditch pitch?"

She stood up and gave Ron a hard shove.

"Sod off, Ron! You're one of the most frustrating, daft men I have ever met! You don't care a whit about anyone as long as you're happy! Who bloody cares that your girlfriend, who is supposedly the most important person in your life, rots away in her tiny flat so long as you're an Auror?"

Hermione knew she was being unreasonable and she hated herself for it. But somehow when she was this livid nothing made sense. She took personal pleasure in seeing Ron's crestfallen expression.

"H-hermione, you know that's not how it is!" he pleaded. "I...I only did this...I was..."

His face had gone pale and then suddenly color rushed back to his cheeks so that he looked nearly like a man after a night of hard drinking.

"I did it for you! You're brilliant and all I wanted to do was keep up with you! And if we get married I'll have a good job so you won't have to work if you want to..."

Hermione's face was as hard as stone and none of Ron's words seemed to reach her.

"Marriage? How can I think about sodding MARRIAGE when my life is such a fucking mess?!"

Her voice was tight to the breaking point and her chest heaved with her labored breathing.

"How can you think that I'd sit at home and play your little wife while you were out living your life?! Are you that brainless? Your precious Minister boss won't ever let you marry a filthy Mudblood like ME!"

Her voice had risen to a low roar and with a vehement swipe of her hand, she pointed towards her door.

"GET OUT."

Ron looked flabbergasted; his face had turned ashen.

"Look, we're both angry. We've both said things...things we don't mean. Can't we talk about this?"

Hermione ignored his pleas.

"Now. Get out now. I'm sick of you; I'm _sick_ of my _life_."

Ron's eyes clouded over with unshed tears and Hermione's hardened heart twitched at the pain that lay in their depths. Could she stand to live with being the reason that the man she loved was hurting?

There was stark silence in that room and Hermione hung her head, her curls creating a chestnut curtain between her and the rest of her world.

"H-Hermione."

Hermione didn't move; she didn't speak. Her pointer finger had not moved, indicating where he should go.

A moment later she heard the front door of her apartment open. For a few seconds she sensed Ron's hesitation but finally the door shut and she let out a shuddering breath, knowing she was alone.

When she looked up there was only the empty flat and the scent of burning coffee. Her movements mechanic, Hermione worked to clean up the mess in the kitchen with a few waves of her wand. Then she threw herself onto her threadbare couch and began to sob.


End file.
